


Path

by ninchannie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Abstract, Blood and Gore, Creepy, Halloween, Non-Graphic Violence, Open to Interpretation, corn maze, just a tiny bit though towards the end, very open to interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninchannie/pseuds/ninchannie
Summary: There are eight boys. A freckled one, who some might call the centrepiece of this all. Then there's one with ruined hair and full lips, one with squishy cheeks and a loud voice. There's one who's the smallest, but without argument the strongest and one who's the tallest, but probably the weakest.There's also one who's the youngest, who always seems to smile at the one with catlike eyes, who is nearly the oldest but not quite. And then there's the one with the backpack and the steady smile.The one.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35
Collections: Stray Kids SpookFest





	Path

**Author's Note:**

> So... weird stuff happens in this, but it is completely and utterly up to the readers mind to come up with the exact background and scenarios. There is so much open ground for any kind of interpretation here, wow.
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- in some ways of interpretation a character in this could be described as dead  
> _ there is something murdery going on, but also something supernatural... it's just... weird
> 
> I know these warnings aren't the best but I'm confused myself with how this all works since every reader will interpret this differently. Just keep away if you think this could be too weird.
> 
> This is for prompt 15 of Spookfest!!

There are murmurs in the air, warm and wet like the last throws of summer are still holding the fields captive. Some are words and others small whispers of the wind, piercing through clothes coldly in contrast to the sickly warmth of the stale air.

Gravel crunches under the boys' feet, aggressive, even louder than the conversation of wind and people. Then it turns lighter, ever lighter, crunching turning to dull steps and those to nothing except for an occasional bump against stone, a crush of a pile of hay under one of the boys' feet.

The air tastes thick and dry, like the corn looks growing tall and high around them, nearly out of season but not quite and one of the boys, not the smallest one but also not far off of that notion, the one with the freckles and arched cupid's bow, he wonders if he were to step away from his group of friends, away from the earthy maze of paths and into the tightness of artificially placed crops. He wonders if the air there would stay so still, he couldn't breathe it into his lungs anymore.

But he doesn't try it, doesn't stray, he just follows and let's another one, with the full lips and crunchy dyed hair, wrap an arm around him and whisper soft words against the side of his face.

 _You're not scared, right?_ is what he's asked _. I'll protect you, freckled one._

That's not his name, but for this story, names are not important. In all of life, names are only luxury, nothing more and nothing less.

So the freckled one assures the other that he's not scared, just pensive, but that he thinks the one up front, who's screaming the loudest when turning another corner in the maze, he thinks that that one might be scared.

With a soft smile, the one with ruined hair and full lips pats the freckled one on the back and skips to the front to the full-cheeked, loud one, forcing his broad-shouldered body in between that one, and another boy's bodies. That other one is the smallest of them, but broader, stronger looking with arms and thighs bulging under tight jeans and a thin sweater.

But the freckled one, he stays alone at the end, watching the three small ones up front being followed by slightly taller figures, one of them at least. With long hair and gracious steps, he's clutching the arm of the boy next to him, who rolls his eyes - fondly or actually annoyed, the freckled one can't quite tell. And on his other side, their youngest is holding onto his other arm, not as scared as the tallest one seems, and with a lot more smiles on his face that he sends the one in their middle.

One could nearly miss the figure next to them, skinny and dressed in dull colours that nearly make him melt into the blandness of dying plants towering next to the paths of the maze. That boy isn't immersed in talking or being scared, he just walks with a content smile and a hand underneath his backpack.

 _Who brings a backpack to a corn maze_ , the full cheeked one laughed at him when they met up, but the one with the backpack, with the steady smile that holds something more, he just ignored the other.

And spurring thought into action, just as the freckled one allows some more distance to grow in between him and the group, the one with the backpack and the smile turns towards him, cocks his head and stops altogether, leaving their group, their safe group, to wait upon the freckled one’s arrival.

The other six notice duly how their group has become smaller, the youngest looking back just before they're rounding a corner, finding the one with the backpack grabbing the freckled one’s hand and pulling him into the depth of darkness in between walls of corn. There's no path there he thinks, and following his gaze, the one between the youngest and the tallest - who's nearly the oldest but not quite - sends him a smile that sparks a glint in his eyes.

_Leave them be, youngest one. They're just having their fun like we are._

So the youngest looks forward again and joins into the almost whispered words of their group about scares and corn and endless, endless walking. He hopes the two lost ones will find their group again.

Pulling the freckled one into darkness, the one with the backpack can't hold back a giddy laugh that bubbles up in his chest, even when the other one slows his step and tries to rip his arm free. They're in the middle of nowhere, the air thicker, just like the freckled one suspected, but not thick enough to make breathing impossible.

They're in the middle of nowhere yet simultaneously in the middle of everywhere, a whole galaxy of solar systems of corn and plants and sticky warmth.

The one with the backpack pulls his backpack off of his shoulders, now just becoming the one. The freckled one looks at him and realizes that the other really is the one.

The zipper being opened is a stark sound, but even that is drowned out by the whispers of wind and distanced murmurs. Not even the freckled one’s scream is heard.

When the one with the backpack finally closes up to the group, they're just a corner away from the end of the corn maze, having successfully made it through. His backpack isn’t heavier than before, but it feels like it will pull him down into the ground. He hopes the plastic bags he brought will hold in the bloody mess on his before unscathed knife. He really doesn't want to ruin the fabric of his backpack.

 _Where is the freckled one?_ he's asked and he shrugs his shoulders, feels the weight of his backpack.

 _He wanted to try a different path_ , is what he says and apparently that's enough and the boys continue their way.

Earthy, flattened ground only interrupted by the sound of dry hay being pushed down by soles of feet, turns into the crunching of pebbles and stone as they make it out of the maze. The air isn't as thick here, but it's orange with the setting sun.

Everything is oranges and reds, the sky, the clouds, the pumpkins that are sold by the nearby farm.

Everything is oranges and reds, the inside of Seungmin's backpack, soiled by the plastic back not being able to hold in the mess, and the freckled one, who sits on a wooden log near the exit of the maze.

He's covered in red, from his white converse shoes, over his light blue jeans and soft yellow sweater. His skin is red too, soiled completely from the root that stems in his throat, where it's still open and red bubbles out with each breath he takes, a sickening sound accompanying it.

 _Oh, there you are, freckled one_ , the one with the ruined hair and full lips says. _Your path must've been quicker than ours._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please leave me your thoughts/ interpretations/ wtf's in the comments and maybe give me some kudos if you want to make a writer happy...


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